Eye of the Beholder
by elecktrum
Summary: Told from various points of view, this is the story of two battles: one against a ruthless enemy, the other to save the life of the High King.
1. Edmund

Eye of the Beholder

by Elecktrum

The usual disclaimer applies: I own nothing and make less. All mistakes are mine and mine alone.I borrow liberally from boththe books and the movie.

Author's note: This story takes place three and a half yearsafter the Pevensie children were crowned. Extra points to anyone who recognizes the song that inspired it.

**Edmund**

"Why does this always happen to me?"

"Does it? Yes, I suppose it does. Happy birthday, Peter."

He sighed. It was absolutely true that for the past three years, right around his birthday in early spring, we had ridden out to battle or had it come to us. "Did you see Methalain? He's the size of a building!"

"Cair Paravel or the Beavers' lodge?" I asked.

"Somewhere in between, I'd say. Closer to Cair Paravel."

I smiled up at Peter as he slid off of Flisk's back and pulled off his helmet. He and a party had just scouted out the enemy's position and despite his complaints I could tell he was confident. We had never heard anyone boast of the intelligence of Ogres and their weapons and tactics were nowhere near as developed as ours. They depended mostly on numbers, brute strength, and blunt force. Peter and I had learned years ago that these things, while helpful, are not necessarily the means to victory. Further, the only thing holding them in check and issuing orders was their king, unlike Narnia's standing army with its ranks of competent officers and trained soldiers. Leaning over the planning board set up on a map of the area, Peter moved a few of the pieces to more exact positions. I was glad to see the Hawks and Eagles and Crows I had sent out earlier had been mostly right in their descriptions of the enemy's movements as well as this beastly terrain full of rocky mounds and uneven plains.

"This is Methalain," said Peter, scooping up a smallish rock and setting it among the pieces. He pronounced the Ogre king's name with a Narnian accent, splitting the 't' and 'h.' "He's about this size in comparison to his troops, too. He must have gotten wind that we're in the habit of leading our own armies because he's placed himself opposite the two of us, behind about ten ranks of his biggest and ugliest."

"You'll beat him," I replied, intent on the map.

Peter cast me a look, running his hand through his flattened hair. "Did you hear me? He's monstrous."

"Magnificent trumps monstrous, Peter, I thought everyone knew that." I circled the table and Peter moved with me, arms folded across his chest. We both pored over the pieces outlining our battle plan. "Our strategy will still work. If Sir Giles and the Ravenwolf brothers are right - and they've never been otherwise - we can knock Methalain out of the fight and the Ogres will break and run."

He picked up my goblet of wine and drank deeply. "That's a big 'if.'"

I shook my head, my confidence an absolute. "You'll beat him."

"And where will you be while I'm performing this miracle, Sir Edmund?"

"Right beside you."

"You'd better be," he returned softly, his blue eyes glittering.

I smirked. As if I'd be anywhere else. I reached for my helmet and shield, following him to where Flisk and Phillip were quietly talking. Mounting the Horse, I adjusted my gear as Peter pulled his helmet back on and accepted his shield from a dwarf attendant.

"Are you ready for this?" he asked softly, his concern genuine.

I nodded in reply. My stomach was tied in knots now that we were setting out, but I would not waver.

"Then let's go to war, brother."


	2. Susan

**Susan**

This chain mail was heavy and unfamiliar, yet its very weight comforted me as I strode down the lines, inspecting the archers. They were as prepared as can be at the moment and there was really no need for me to check, but I needed the distraction as much as the soldiers under me needed to be distracted as we waited. The battle had started and my brothers were in it - leading it, planning it, and, Aslan willing, winning it. This was the closest I had ever been to taking active part in a battle, though even now I would not get any closer than I was now. We were out of sight of the battlefield, waiting along the planned routes to defend the army as they fell back. I had half the archers with me, the other half had moved to the front on Edmund's orders.

Already many of the wounded have passed before us, heading back to the healers at the main camp. In Beruna I was removed from the field and helped only in the last, most desperate, moments of the engagement. I was not afraid to admit, at least to myself, that I was very frightened at the prospect of going to war. I was not like my brothers, trained knights of Narnia that they are, or my valiant little sister, all of whom leaped to our kingdom's defense with weapons in hand. Though I would do whatever it took to defend my country, I would sooner solve problems with words than steel.

This time, though, our choices were few and words were in vain. Driven from their home in the Mirror Mountains for want of food, the Ogres invaded Ettinsmoor without warning or provocation and we quickly learned there was only one thing they understood and respected: superior might.

I prayed they faced it now.

I stopped and stood beside Xati, the Captain of Archers appointed by Edmund two years ago. Her flanks were a beautiful black-and-white pinto pattern, which was unusual for a Centaur. She was talking to Pawlin, a Black Dwarf officer under her command. Pawlin was typically cranky, but of all the Black Dwarves I had ever met, he was the most loyal and outgoing. They were discussing the terrain and I listened without really hearing them, calmed by their apparent composure, until Beth, Ravenwolf's daughter, came with news of the battle.

The Ravenwolfs came to us this past spring, the third year of our reign. They were a family of black Wolves born at the end of Jadis's bitter rule in the forest west of Glasswater. Their mother, Suki Ravenwolf, was the noble matriarch of their extended family and she committed her whole litter to our service. There were five in all, four sons and a daughter, and they were loyal and true servants of Narnia. Many people, the Beavers and Tumnus especially, were wary of Wolves on principal, but it was proven that Suki and her clan had never answered to the White Witch and Peter welcomed them gladly into our service. They were excellent scouts and messengers - quick, sharp, and keenly intelligent, while the eldest, Arthur, was a surprisingly good poet.

"How goes the battle?" I asked, resisting the temptation to press her for news about Peter and Edmund. They were not the only warriors on the field, though they were the ones I cared about the most.

"The air assault was successful in breaking up the Ogres' attack on the right flank, my queen," said Beth. All Wolves have deep voices and if I hadn't known better, I would have thought her a male. Everyone within earshot paused to listen to her news. "Captain Kanell is holding firm. General Oreius's feint went as planned and your brothers are engaged in the middle of the line."

"What of the Ogre king?" pressed Xati.

"Methalain is geared for battle, but he has not taken part in the fight. He is their only control and if he commits himself to the battle the Ogres will run berserk."

Pawlin snorted. "That may be his plan and he's waiting for the right moment to attack. Not much of a plan if you ask me."

Beth shook her head. "It would be effective."

I had seen Ogres once before on the edge of the Western Wild. Horrid creatures, they ranged in size from a pony to an elephant, and the larger they were the more authority they commanded within the Ogre hierarchy. Their legs were short, thick as tree trunks, and ended in broad, flat feet with only three toes. Their arms were equally huge, but overlong and their hands had three fingers ending in thick claws. They had no neck and their heads were mostly mouth and beady eyes. Edmund had described them as walking potatoes, walking _rotten_ potatoes, which was a fairly accurate assessment since they were brownish green in color and had lumpy, scaly hides. They were savage and destructive creatures with a taste for any type of flesh including their own, and now they had turned their sights on Narnia.

I shuddered, thinking of my two brothers so small against Methalain's troops.


	3. Ogre King Methalain

**Ogre King Methalain**

Tiny, arrogant Narnian kings with their bright blades and army of unnatural beasts. They stood across the battle plain dividing our armies. Shining in metal and blood-red cloth and they thought that they could stop me. They said I cannot come, cannot have their land. Who were they, these pale kings, these cocksure whelps that swear by a cat and wear his symbol? Who were they to defy me, Methalain, King of Mount Roon? What kind of land had two kings? What kind of land needed two queens? What kind of king would be fool enough to share his power with females, let alone allow a brother to live? How could anything so insignificant and cheap as these kings think they could win against my might?

"No prisoners," I ordered my generals. "Just bring the Narnian kings to me."

They took that as orders to attack and I did not correct them. The Giants had said Narnia would never attack first and it seemed they spoke the truth. Cowards! I despised them even more.

My troops surged forward with a yell that shook the mountains to their very bones. Across from me, the so-called High King of Narnia gestured with his sword. His army did not move, clearly paralyzed with fear and awe. I laughed at them and my aides laughed with me. I had never eaten Centaur or Human. I was looking forward to both.

But then from above came a shrieking sound and grotesque winged beasts bombarded my charging soldiers with stones. The lesser king gave a shout and archers secreted in the hills on all sides let loose with a rain of arrows that decimated my troops and drove then wild with pain and fear.

A rock struck the officer standing but three away from me, crushing him into the earth. I lunged away disgracefully, knocking my iron crown askew. Had it been anyone else the Ogres around me would have been laughing, and their silence made it all the worse. I picked myself up and looked at the smashed body of my kin. It could have been me. My people do not use such paltry weapons. We use spears and swords and clubs. We strike when an enemy is in range, not from afar.

My Ogres swarmed over the field, shouting their war-cries and shaking the earth with their steps regardless of the archers. Narnia's deceitful little ruler gave a command and the army poured forward as a whole, a solid wedge of animals and beasts. I ordered more of my people forward, striking those who did not move quickly enough with my fists, cursing them roundly for being despicable cowards to be oudone by children and animals.

Looking back to the field just as the Narnian army collided with mine, I saw their lines hold firm and whatever discipline my soldiers had crumble beneath the steady direction of the kings. Spears and swords and hooves and teeth and talons ripped into my soldiers with a terrific roar. I watched, and in that instant, I knew there was only one hope for victory.

I stared at the Humans across the plain, hating them and everything they stood for. They were clever and dishonorable, these kings. I had not anticipated this, this rout by these Talking Animals and strange, vile beasts. It angered me until I saw nothing but red. Blood red. Emblazoned with a golden lion.

For this affront, I would kill Narnia's kings myself.


	4. Peter

**Peter**

I instinctively tightened my legs as Flisk covered the distance between us and the Ogres. He had to slow himself to keep pace with the rest of the army. Beside us, Phillip galloped along at an even speed, keeping a sword's length away, his reins loose, my brother set and determined upon his back. This was only the second time Edmund had ridden into battle like this and I knew he was as frightened as he was eager.

The two forces crashed together, the front rank slicing a huge swath through the Ogres. Flisk plunged and reared, his sharp hooves horn doing as much damage as I did with my sword and shield. I glanced at Edmund. Phillip was steady beneath him and I trusted the Horse to guard my brother even as I trusted Flisk to guard me. There were Ogres everywhere and of all sizes. They howled in high-pitched voices as they swarmed across the battlefield and tried to penetrate our lines. I hacked and slashed at them with Rhindon without hesitation, knowing what atrocities the Ogres would carry out in Narnia, given an opportunity.

I paused at a break in the fighting. Something had set off Methalain. He was raving and beating his own troops, waving a club that was about the same size as Lucy as he screamed at them. Still behind his own lines opposite me and Edmund, he suddenly looked my way with a sneer. This, I knew, could not be good. I directed Flisk over to Edmund and helped him kill off an Ogre harrying Phillip.

"Look," I ordered, smashing a small Ogre in the bumpy head with my shield before it could touch the Unicorn beneath me. I pointed with my sword.

Edmund blinked to see the Ogre king in a frenzy. We were busy for a few moments, fighting off some Ogres with spears. Three Centaurs of the royal guard came to our aid, skewering the brutes with their longer lances.

"Aslan help us. We need to kill him quickly," Edmund said, sizing up Methalain's bulk. His eyes were wide in astonishment.

"Couldn't agree more," I replied, resisting an I-told-you-so. "Any suggestions?"

"Chop his head off!"

I slashed at an Ogre running at me with a club. "He has no neck!"

"Oh. Blast."

We had no further chance to talk. Methalain plunged into the fight, trampling the Ogres in his way as he entered the field with a vengeance. The Ogres rallied and Oreius, off to the left, gave a shout to reform the lines. Celer and Taval took up the cry and our army fell back a bit to form up again in a tight line before me and Ed. We were in the middle of the rocky plain, our archers still on the two highest outcroppings and the Gryphons and Birds still wheeling above, picking off Ogres on the fringes. Still, Methalain waded towards us, brandishing his club wildly. Either he was close enough or he was big enough, but I could clearly see his beady purple eyes and his gaping mouth filled with rows of serrated teeth. He was repulsive.

Oreius hissed a command and the Centaurs and Satyrs in the two front ranks prepared for a charge. The Ogres had finally figured to get out of Methalain's path and they parted before him, leaving him clear access to our line. He was running now, a strange, ungainly gait. The ground shook with each step and he covered yards with every stride until he was almost at our line.

Then something completely unexpected happened: Methalain leaped into the air. The jump carried him over the lines, knocking spears back and aside as he cleared most of our line. He landed so heavily, right in front of Flisk and Phillip, that the ground shook and both Horses tried to scramble out of the way. He swung his club and Edmund dove or fell off of Phillip, landing heavily in the grass. Methalain never hesitated, but pivoted around, his long tail sweeping the rear lines of Fauns and Satyrs and Animals. The soldiers were thrown around like toys, some of them crushed. I heard Oreius shouting as the Ogres attacked on three sides.

"Help them!" I ordered the Unicorn and slid off his back. I had a better chance on foot right now. _What a rotten way to turn seventeen_, I thought as I made sure Flisk was well on his way.

Methalain roared and arched his club overhead. I darted to the side as it shattered the rock where I had stood.

"Cursed maggot!" Methalain growled.

I didn't answer, but looked for a way to get closer and strike. He was easily four times my size, not very fast but ridiculously strong. I was afraid, but at the same time I had confidence from my training and experience. Fighting Jadis will forever be the yardstick by which I measure fear in battle and Methalain was not in her class.

He swung again, burying the club in the sod. I stabbed at his arm, slicing it open. Hot, black blood spurted out. He gasped in pain and fury and I saw exactly what I needed to do: keep him angry. I darted back, out of range of his overlong arms and that huge club.

"Your best is not impressive, Methalain," I snapped above the almighty din of battle, never standing still for an instant. "End this now!"

He swept the club at my head. I ducked, then darted in at him, aiming Rhindon at his legs. He tried to get away and tripped, staggering a step. I gave chase. He twisted and fell to his knee and in that instant I swung at his foot, slashing through thick layers of skin and cutting his foot open to the bone.

I had wanted him mad, but I may have overdone it.

He whirled, furious. His tiny eyes were livid and he let out a roar that made my ears ring as he surged to his feet to face me. He hadn't really slowed down, though he favored his injured foot, each step leaving a black smear on the grass.

Off to my right, Edmund suddenly let out a cry of, "Targets! Fire!" and the archers let loose on the Ogres still advancing. Methalain glanced over at my brother as screams erupted anew, and then he seemed to realize the truth.

It was hopeless and he was beaten. He had been beaten even before we started. The moment he left the Mirror Mountains far to the northwest, he had lost this abortive attempt at war.

But he had not lost yet.

"Stop your army now, Methalain," I offered, still moving, still avoiding that club and his claws. "Order them to cease fighting and lay down their weapons. I swear by Aslan that I will allow you to depart in peace. Return to your kingdom and fight us no more."

The ugly brute laughed at me, amused that anything so small should threaten him or offer terms, it seemed, and too stupid to seize this opportunity. He licked his chops with his long purple tongue. "We will take your land. Your subjects will be slain for sport and we will take your riches as we cast down your kingdom, little king. You will be saved for last, after I have eaten all your kin myself and sucked on their bones."

"You can't win," I insisted, ignoring his revolting words and that purple tongue.

He laughed. "If I kill you, I won't lose, either."

I shook my head. It was like arguing with a rock. Methalain was moving slower. I knew he was trying to lure me closer and I didn't fall for it, which just added to his temper. I was like a wasp stinging an elephant.

He suddenly seemed to come to a decision because his eyes narrowed and his mouth turned up in a vicious, cunning smile. I found out soon enough what pleased him so - he leaped up in the air as he had done before and tried to land on me.

I dove aside and rolled out of the way. Methalain laughed in twisted delight, jumping at me again. I threw myself back, smacking into the steep wall of stone behind me. He thought I was trapped and perhaps I was, but that certainly wouldn't stop or slow me and he was a fool to believe otherwise.

He leaped again, not quite atop me but close enough that his bulk impacted on my shield and I felt something in my arm and shoulder give. Turning to the left, I let go my shield so that I could thrust my sword forward and up, sliding Rhindon between the plates of his crude armor. Beneath the armor the blade met no resistance of mail or bone and I buried it almost to the hilt in his belly.

"This is all of Narnia you'll ever get!" I hissed.

He roared in agony, thrashing and squirming away from me and I lost my grip on the sword. I was too close and tried to move away, ducking under his wildly swung club and then jumping over his tail. He whirled, flailing desperately. His bulky iron crown slipped down his face and he seized upon it in fury, whipping it at me. I threw myself to the ground and it shattered against the rock at my back. Iron shards and bits of rock exploded behind me. My helm was knocked off, but the mail and armor protected me from the worst of the shrapnel. I scrambled back to my feet.

And then his huge hand caught me from behind.

Three fingers wrapped around my body, crushing my armor into me so hard I screamed. Methalain laughed, delighting in this final act of vengeance as he slammed me into the ground. My right leg broke beneath me with a horrible crunching sound and I screamed again. I could taste blood and my vision was going dark. He shook me, and agony arched through every inch of my body before he tossed me off to the side as easily as I'd throw away an apple core.


	5. Phillip

**Phillip**

_He is going to fall off again if he keeps that up,_ I thought as Edmund bounced and twisted around as he struck down an Ogre threatening my left flank. I was tempted to kick it for good measure, but keeping the king seated and well out of the way of swinging clubs was more important than adding to an Ogre's bruises. Besides, I knew that when Edmund struck a creature down, it almost invariably stayed that way.

I didn't see the High King fall, but I heard my rider's gasp, followed by a scream of fear and fury the likes of which I have never heard pass his lips before. I whirled just in time to see King Peter being smashed into the rocky cliff face, hurled there by Methalain's huge hand. I couldn't help but flinch at the sound of metal and bone breaking as he hit the wall, then crashed to the ground.

He didn't move.

I cast a glance at the Ogre king and to my shock I saw he was collapsing to the ground, King Peter's sword driven deeply in his belly. I supposed now he'd believe the Giants' warning not to challenge Narnia's High King. Even wicked Giants were good for something on occasion. The Ogre soldiers hesitated, some of them turning to fight their way to their king, others turning towards mine.

I felt Edmund shift forward as he stood up in the saddle without warning and I adjusted my weight to keep him balanced. I could tell by his movements he was brandishing his sword as he shouted for all to hear:

"Narnia! Narnia, to me!"

We all knew what that meant. King Edmund was now in command of the battle and everyone that heard automatically moved towards him to form a defensive line. They did not know what had happened yet, but they knew there was no time to question this shift in command.

"Celer! Form them up before the cliff! Orieus! Orieus!"

Flisk, riderless now, broke away from the scene to fetch the general. I mentally commanded the Unicorn to run faster, though he can far outstrip me at my best.

Methalain was completely hidden by his troops as the positions on the battle field shifted. Their distraction gave Narnia a chance to form a defensive line. Never let it be said Ogres fought with discipline or sense or anything approaching tactics. The movement of both armies left me in the clear for a moment and Edmund leaped off my back at a dead run, swift as a yearling. I've always admired how quickly Humans can move with only two legs, but now was hardly the time for him to run off. That reckless colt was going to make me a lame, gray nag out to pasture before my time.

"Edmund! No!" I cried, but his only purpose right then was his brother. I followed him up the rock-strewn field, my hooves slipping on the slick,uneven slope. I made sure to kick and trample several wounded Ogres in my path that tried to snatch at Edmund as he raced towards King Peter. I saw him kneel and gently turn his brother, leaning down to touch his cheek. I could tell by his stance and expression that it was very bad. Out there against the cliff, Narnia's two kings were exposed and one was helpless.

Edmund whirled as a smallish Ogre leaped down from the outcropping above. Brave king, he stood over his brother, defending him with sword and shield, blocking the strikes the Ogre aimed at him and at the figure lying between his feet.

He smashed the Ogre aside for a moment and bellowed, "Narnia!"

The soldiers responded, understanding now what happened and rushing to protect their kings. Edmund was holding off the Ogre as it tried to draw him away from King Peter. It was watching the strange, fierce little Human, not its own back, and just as it raised its club to send another blow down on my king, I sank my teeth into the Ogre's arm and trampled it with my speed and greater size. It let out a howl of pain and dropped to the ground, a look of shock frozen on its face as Edmund ran it through.

"How fares the High King?" I demanded, spitting out the taste of Ogre. King Peter's palomino hair was matted with blood.

Edmund shook his head, his dark eyes wide, looking like a frightened foal. "We have to get him out of here, Phillip!"

A flash of snowy white flanks, and Flisk returned with Oreius a few lengths behind him. The general was horrified at the scene.

"Oreius," commanded Edmund in a voice he rarely used, "get Peter to Lucy right now!"

"Sire, your safety - "

I could not stop my furious whinny that he would dare question the ability of _my_ king to lead the army. It was unfair of me because I know Oreius was as concerned for Edmund as he was for King Peter, but I would not listen to any criticism real or imagined.

Edmund stepped up to the Centaur, not even looking my way as he motioned me to be silent. He was a fraction of Oreius' size, but, by the Lion, he was the mightiest thing on the field. "I lead the battle, General. I am trusting you with my brother's life."

Sheathing his swords, Oreius said not another word, but leaned far over, kneeling on his front legs. Edmund helped shift King Peter's broken body from the ground to the Centaur's arms. The rock was stained red wherethe High Kinghad fallen and Oreius grimaced as the wounded boy let out a horrible, pain-filled groan.

"The right flank holds steady under Taval," Oreius said as Edmund tucked King Peter's shattered arm against the Centaur's chest.

"Run," ordered Edmund needlessly, because Oreius was already gone.

"On my back," I ordered, determined to spare the younger king his brother's fate. Edmund mounted up and from his vantage point atop my back took stock of the battle.

"Flisk!"

"Majesty?" The Unicorn's voice shook, so distressed was he to see King Peter removed from the field.

"Tell Queen Susan to be ready on my signal."

"A retreat?"

I could not see him, but I knew he was smiling that wicked little smile he wears when he's being clever as he said, "No. Thanks to Peter, we're about to rout them."


	6. Oreius

**Oreius **

"Oreius! Oreius!"

Flisk. Riderless. I automatically looked beyond him to the center of the front line. I could see only King Edmund through the fray. He had taken over supreme command of the battle. Where was the High King?

Minutes later I was doing something I never imagined I would do: I was running from a battle as fast as I could.

Or perhaps I had engaged in a new, more desperate battle. The fear I had never felt in war swept down upon me, centered on the suddenly frail form I carried. I had loved this good king from the first, but I never realized the depth of that love until this instant, when I realized I could lose him.

"Bal!" I shouted, never slowing as I reached the rear line. "Bal!"

The Cheetah caught up with me and ran alongside.

"Get word to Queen Lucy! The High King is mortally wounded. Have her meet us!"

He tore off at top speed. Several of my Centaur troops saw and heard what was happening and broke off, falling in to protect me and my burden. They were joined by the Elk guard and the four sons of Ravenwolf. Good. I would have brought the whole army with me to protect him if I could.

_  
I know I said I was with you to the death, my king, but I meant only my own_, I thought to the slight figure cradled in my arms. _I am sure that Aslan, blessed be his power and might, never meant for one such as you to die._ I could smell blood dripping from him, feel broken bones shift as I raced towards the rear. He was so small. A foal. Seventeen years was not long. Certainly not long enough for a lifetime. And I had left his younger brother behind against a terrible and mighty foe.

I had failed them both.

I glance down at King Peter's pale face. Even unconscious I could tell he was in agony. Methalain had broken more than bone. Clearly he had internal injuries. My hands were sticky as his blood dried on them. A few minutes later, when I looked again, I realized he wasn't breathing properly.

I stumbled and slid to a halt, almost losing my hold on the king. The ride was too rough for him in this condition because when I finally came to a halt he seemed to breathe easier. I could not continue. He would never make it.

"Fetch Queen Lucy back to here immediately!" I ordered the black Wolves and the Elk captain. Swift as the wind, they took off. I barely noticed as I shifted King Peter until his labored breaths seemed to come easier. There was a faint froth of blood at his lips, but I knew of nothing I could do but hold him. The Centaurs and Elks drew close around me and formed a protective ring.

I stared at the High King's fair face, bloodied and broken, and I thought of his brother facing the Ogres. How difficult had it been for Edmund to send me away with Peter? How impossible was it for me to stay with Peter so gravely wounded?

_I am trusting you with my brother's life._

King Edmund had knowingly given me the greatest treasure in Narnia and he had stayed behind to protect me and his brother.

_Sacrifice_ is the motto of his knightly order. He was living it now.

I had once dared to call Edmund a traitor. I regretted that as I regretted few instances in my life.

I swore never to fail them again.

King Peter stirred, gasping in pain, and I feared he would wake up. I glanced at the soldiers around me, making sure they remained alert as I knelt, then settle down in the tall grass, gently easing my charge to the ground, careful of his broken bones and injuries. He seemed smaller than when I last saw him, smaller and colder and far too young to be dying in my arms. I supported him with my arm and, as softly as I could, I soothed his brow, trying to comfort him.

"It is Oreius, my king," I whispered to him. I would have given anything to take this pain away from him. "You have been wounded, but Queen Lucy will be here soon and you will be healed."

Slowly he turned his head and looked at me. I saw suffering and exhaustion reflected in his blue eyes, but also trust. Peter was different from his brother in so many ways, but the expression in his eyes was identical to Edmund's when he had surrendered this boy to my care. Gradually his eyes closed and he leaned against me. I watched his breathing, tried to stop his bleeding, and prayed to Aslan that Bal had reached our youngest queen.

"A Centaur lying down on the job," a familiar and welcome voice suddenly said from a few feet behind me. "That's not something you see every day."

It was Sir Giles Fox.


	7. Sir Giles Fox

**Sir Giles Fox**

The Centaur archers and the bull Elks all whipped around at the sound of my voice, ready to shoot, gore, and trample me. Not the smartest move I've ever made, but I couldn't resist teasing them as I showed off a bit of slyness. Sneaking about was a skill and like any other I needed to practice to keep it sharp. I couldn't imagine why I managed to get so close to them, but I'll admit I didn't even try it until the Ravenwolf brothers had left.

"Get down here," Oreius ordered rudely, which was as much as I expected of him when we were in the midst of a pitched battle. I had been circling around from the Ogres' lines where I had spent my time collecting intelligence - a ridiculously easy task when Ogres are involved - when I spotted the strange formation of Centaurs and overgrown Deer in my path. Since being a Fox makes nosiness my business, I had to know what they were about.

Ever obedient, I jumped down from my perch on a brace of stone, more of that bland granite that the Giants are so fond of throwing at each other. A bull Elk stamped a hoof and snorted angrily at me, but since I answered not to him but to the good general, I ignored him as I moved around to Oreius's front.

"Are you injured?" I asked, far more concerned for the general than I let on. "Why are you - oh, by the Lion, no!"

The High King himself was cradled in Oreius's arms. A chill as cold as the Hundred-Year Winter shook me from my whiskers to the tip of my tail, reminding me of nothing less than the feel of Jadis's wand turning me to stone. Blood streaked King Peter's armor and I could tell his breathing was completely wrong. His left arm and both his legs were broken and he wasn't moving. No expert on Humans, I was fairly certain their lips weren't supposed to be blue, nor their faces as pale as snow. I have never seen such a look of dread in Oreius's expression in all the years I have known him.

"Your report," demanded Oreius.

I blinked, trying to find my voice, finally dragging my eyes away from the king. I sat back on my haunches to hide my trembling. "The Ogres are routed. Their ranks are completely broken and scattered."

The bull Elk snorted again, but the tone was smug, not angry. Amazing how much emotion they can pack into a grunt.

Oreius nodded. "King Peter stabbed Methalain with his sword before he was wounded. We're waiting for Queen Lucy."

"Well," I said, realizing the fruits of my labors, "in a way I suppose that's very good news."

"In a way?" He knew it wasn't good.

"Methalain is dead, then, according to what the Ogres were howling."

I was trying the general's patience. His dark eyes narrowed on me. "But..."

"Without him to hold the army together, the Ogres are on a rampage and about fifty or so of them have circled around are headed this way."

"He can't move," hissed Oreius, looking down at his fragile burden.

"Perhaps, but his brother and sister certainly can."

"Get them. Now."

I ran, knowing what was at stake.


	8. Lucy

**Lucy**

How could Peter and Edmund wear chain mail and armor all day, much less fight while wearing it? It was remarkable how heavy it became and I was glad it wasn't a sunny day or I knew I would have been baked. I had Peter's first suit of armor on, the one he wore during the Battle of Beruna, and while I was almost as tall as he was then I wasn't nearly as broad and the mail shirt hung loosely. The Dwarf armorers offered to fit it to me better, but I declined. Not only was it Peter's armor, made at Aslan's order, but he had won a smashing victory that day and I didn't want to risk tempting luck by altering it. That was part of the reason I chose to wear this suit instead of Edmund's old mail, which fits me much better. I knew the Dwarves would have happily made me my own suit just they had for Susan, but I wanted part of my brothers with me there that day and so I was perfectly happy wearing their hand-me-downs and a tight belt. On my head was Edmund's old helmet and on my hip hung his first sword, now too short for him but just right for me. This sword, Shafelm, had smashed Jadis's wand and helped us win at Beruna, freeing Narnia. Since then Edmund had simply named every sword he carried Shafelm, and if my count is correct he's working on the third one. I just hoped I wouldn't be put in a position where I'd actually have to draw it since I had been learning swordsmanship for only a month. My skills were nothing to brag about and most likely never would be. Edmund had insisted that if I wanted to carry his sword, though, I had better learn to use it properly and let me know in no uncertain terms the degree of care I was to take with it. One would have thought it was his first born.

The camp had been set up two days ago by the only steady source of clean water we had found for miles. I had not seen the battlefield, but I knew it was distant and not the place my brothers would have chosen for a fight, given their druthers. Susan was with them and part of me longed to be there with them.

I had waited here at the rear all day, helping the Centaur and Nymph healers treat the wounded as they trickled in and tending to the very worst of them myself. My cordial was precious and reserved only for the most serious wounds. So far today, the healers had asked me twelve times to help them. Each warrior that was restored was anxious to return to the battle, well aware of what was at stake and desperate to defend their fellow soldiers and kings.

I looked up as a Cheetah came running full-tilt towards the encampment and I recognized Bal, one of Peter's pages. He never slowed until he was almost upon the camp, and with a growl he cried, "Queen Lucy!"

"Here, Bal!" I called back, raising an arm so he could spot me. I ran towards him as fast as the armor would let me and he met me moments later. He was panting heavily.

"My queen, the High King has fallen and King Edmund has taken command of the army. General Oreius is bringing King Peter back to camp now. Your brother is gravely injured. The general asks that you ride to meet him-"

"Captain Talene!" I instantly shouted to the first officer I spotted. The Centaur immediately moved towards us through the crush of soldiers and Animals. "A Horse! Immediately!"

"No time!" Bal insisted. "Talene, take her! High King Peter has no time!"

I have never ridden a Centaur before, nor do I know of anyone that has save for my brothers. Later on, after the battle, I wished I could remember more of it. Everything happened so very quickly that looking back, it was all a blur. Talene scooped me up in one fluid motion and set me on his broad back, shouting for several other Centaurs and Bulls and Dogs to follow and protect me. I barely managed to clasp my hands onto the belt around his torso before he set off after Bal.

I didn't know how far Talene ran before we met with Wills, the youngest of the Ravenwolf brothers running our way. Immediately the wolf took over for Bal, who fell behind in exhaustion, leading us through the plain. The Great Northern Range, which includes the Mirror Mountains, starts - or ends - in this place and there were outcroppings of gray stone everywhere, jutting up through the dull yellow grass. It was an awful, clammy, and unhappy place and I was glad it wasn't part of Narnia.

We met the next wolves, Kevin and Keefang, further on and they took over the lead. Going in relays, the brothers lead us towards the battlefield until I saw Arthur, the eldest of Mrs. Ravenwolf's sons, waiting for us beside an Elk. They both turned and darted away, guiding us to Peter. I was frightened beyond words for my brother. He had a habit of being too brave for his own good and this was not the first time he had been badly wounded. I wasn't in the least surprised, though. Peter would never ask another to do what he wasn't willing to do himself, be it sampling a new concoction from the kitchens or leading our army against creatures as awful as Ogres.

When we finally reached Oreius I fell off Talene rather than dismounted, but I didn't care. I just stumbled upright and ran for the center of the defensive ring of Centaurs and Elks. I gasped when I saw Peter. He looked even worse than Edmund had at Beruna: colorless and pinched, his breathing ragged and painful to hear, his body grossly twisted. Was I here in time?

"Quickly!" Oreius said, closer to panic than I had ever seen him or ever wanted to see him. His whole front was covered with blood and I realized that it was Peter's. I fell to the ground beside them, Edmund's sword tripping me up. Fumbling for the cordial at my waist, I opened the stopper with trembling hands. I was tempted to pour more than a drop down his throat, but I didn't. One drop of the precious liquid was all I needed and I took a deep breath to steady myself as I administered the cordial. A single bead fell into Peter's mouth and I returned the bottle to its pouch on my waist. Then I sat back, waiting and watching and praying to Aslan for it to save him.


	9. Ogre Captain Casht

**Ogre Captain Casht**

The king! The king was dead! Killed by that arrogant child who calls himself King of Narnia! What do they know of greatness, these puny Humans? How dare they give themselves the same title as Methalain! He had united us, raised us from the dirt, and lead us here when our mountains could no longer support our numbers. There were too many of my people for anyone else to control and lead in this cause. How could he have fallen? How could he have left us bereft? Left me, his most loyal captain?

I stopped myself from further raving. It served no purpose. I shoved it aside with my grief and looked to the battlefield to salvage what I could from the situation. Many of my people had fled north, back towards our blighted home in the Mirror Mountains. Others still fought these grotesque creatures of Narnia. There was no hope of a victory without Methalain, and for one disloyal moment I cursed him for losing control and entering the battle against the Narnian king. I had warned him. Striplings though they may be, I had never heard tell of any cowardice or weakness on the part of Narnia's two kings and if the Giants spoke aright, they had never lost in battle. Some charm held sway over them and their fortunes and I knew deep down it was not luck that allowed the Human to slay my king.

Around me stood Methalain's personal guard and the favorites of his court, more than five tens by count, all of them castrated of influence and power with the king's death. His useless, empty death. They were stunned, staring at his corpse. I pushed past them and laid hold of the sword still driven in his flesh and yanked it free. It was baptized in his blood, cold steel awash in drying brown blood. Methalain's blood royal. Would that I could return it to the High King in a like manner.

And why not?

"With me," I ordered, looking to the noble Ogres around me. The turned to me in a daze. They had no direction without Methalain to dictate their every move and thought. "The High King has fled the field. We'll circle around and slay the creatures in his encampment behind Narnia's lines. We'll avenge our king by robbing them of theirs. Who is with me, warriors of Roon?"

They all were. Single-minded creatures that they were, they completely forgot the army struggling on the field and I no longer cared.

We gathered up fallen weapons and set out, heading first north, then turning to the southeast to intercept the Narnians.


	10. Edmund again

**Edmund again **

"King Edmund! 'Tis Sir Giles!"

I twisted about at Celer's shout. The Faun would not have called out like that in the middle of a battle unless he had excellent reason. Sir Giles Fox was with him and without being told Phillip dashed over to where they sheltered behind one of the rock formations.

"A band of about fifty Ogres broke free of the fight when Methalain died and they circled around over the hills to the southeast," the Fox said without preamble. He was so anxious that he shifted from paw to paw. "They're headed right to where Oreius awaits Queen Lucy with your brother."

"I told him to get Peter out of here!" I yelled uselessly, cold fear gripping my breast. Peter needed Lucy's cordial _now._

"Your brother could go no further!" Giles said above the clash of battle. "Queen Susan is already heading that way with a brace of archers, but they aren't heavily enough armed to stand against so many Ogres."

_Susan. Oh, Aslan..._

I turned to Celer, confident he could deal with the remnants of the enemy troops."Take the Bears, give me the Cats, and I'll take the royal guard. Sound the alarm! Move! Giles, with me!" Celer dashed away. I leaned over towards my Horse's ear. "Can you make it, Phillip?"

"No," he said without hesitation, "ride Flisk."

"Help Celer. And be careful!" I ordered and freed myself of the saddle, dropping to the ground as Flisk came running over. We neither of us hesitated, but Flisk was taller and broader than Phillip and I'm afraid the Unicorn sacrificed a handful of mane as I swung onto his back. I leaned far over, reaching for Sir Giles, knowing pitched battle was no place for an animal his size. "Up!"

He jumped onto my hand and I scooped him up, holding him between my legs. By now I could hear the horns of the Centaurs and I saw the select troops of the royal guard break free of the battle to follow me. Celer's Fauns and Satyrs filled in the gaps automatically. For all his greater size than Phillip, Flisk was light of foot and swift as the wind and he moved through the remains of the battle with amazing ease. The royal guard, comprised mainly of Centaurs, Gryphons, Fauns, and Satyrs, fell in behind us, joined by Sharet and her big Cats.

"Show us where, Giles!" I cried.

"Straight back to the main camp on the clearest path," he responded loudly enough for Sharet and the lead Centaur to hear.

"Shall I wait for them?" asked Flisk, meaning the guards.

"No," I said firmly, thinking of my brother and sisters.

Flisk ran so quickly I had trouble seeing in front of me and I had to duck my head to breathe. The royal guard did their best to keep up, but few beings in Narnia can match a Unicorn for speed and finally the Gryphons rose high in the air to spot for the troop. Even Sharet fell behind, forced to dart between the rocks that Flisk jumped. I held Giles tightly, afraid of losing him and confident that Flisk would not let me fall. We tore past the racing archers, past Susan on a Horse, plunging through the tall grass. If I hadn't been so anxious I would have been exhilarated at the speed, but at that moment all I wanted was for the Unicorn to run faster still. I had seen people die before and I knew Peter had been close, very close, to death. I knew now what he had felt at Beruna, why he suffered from such horrible nightmares.

I refused to accept any possible outcomes of _this_ nightmare but one.

"South!" shouted the Fox. "Look south!"

I saw them, the huge, ugly, brutish Ogres. None were as large as Methalain had been - he would never suffer a threat to his power, of that I was sure. Since size equaled authority with Ogres, I supposed we were in luck since most of the Ogres were no larger than Horses. There were a few exceptions in the ranks, but Methalain clearly was taking no chances and few of his followers rivaled his scale. They were spread out in a long, lumbering mass across the plain, all of them headed towards a small knot of Narnians. The largest and fastest of them were almost upon Oreius and his party.

"Set me down, Majesty," said Giles, knowing he would only hinder me from here on.

I grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and Flisk slowed just long enough for me to safely drop him on a clump of thatch. He tumbled to a halt. With a burst of speed the Unicorn made up for those lost seconds and I tightened my legs as I drew my sword.

"Cut them off!" I shouted, and leaned to the right as Flisk angled towards the Narnians. Overhead I caught a glimpse of Gryphons diving down to attack from the sky. I could see everything with perfect clarity, every movement, every actor, and it was as if I could sense everything that needed to be done to protect my family. I raised my sword and shield and let lose a battle cry I swear they must have heard in Anvard.

"_NARNIA!"_

Flisk smashed into the Ogre soldiers midway through their ragged line. Head down, the Unicorn skewered the first Ogre on his indigo horn before I even had a chance to swing. I slid forward at the impact and almost tipped off, unused to battling bareback, but Flisk twisted and I righted myself. Right now the ground was not the place to be. We cut through the line and turned back upon them, distracting the nearest ones from the group of warriors around Peter.

They ran at me and Flisk and we charged again. I laid into them with sword and shield as Flisk slashed with his hooves and horn and teeth. It was very different from fighting atop Phillip, who takes no initiative besides the most obvious attacks and I missed the leverage a saddle gives. I also had to reach further to connect, though the height allowed me to use the sharpened bottom edge of my shield to maximum advantage.

I needed to grow taller.

The Gryphons swooped down with deadly accuracy, their shrill voices mingling with the screams of the startled Ogres. From the direction of the main camp I caught a glimpse of several Bulls and Dogs heading towards the band of Narnians protecting Peter. We had brought no Bulls to the battlefield, leaving them to guard the wounded, and I knew instantly that they had come as escort to my little sister. Lucy was here with Peter. From the other direction I heard Xati screaming orders for the archers to fall in so they could pick off the straggling Ogres. I directed Flisk with my knees to turn and head for Oreius.

The Unicorn was a formidable fighter. I had never fully realized his might or ferocity, but he was well suited to Peter because I know of nothing to match my brother on the field of battle. He carried me now into the thickest part of the struggle as I fought for my kingdom and family, knowing that for Peter's sake, for Narnia's sake, I dared not fail.


	11. Susan again

**Susan again**

_Faster, Edmund, ride faster! _I thought as a flash of white and silver streaked by me. The Horse beneath me put on a burst of speed as the Unicorn sped almost out of sight. _Get to him, get to him, get to Peter NOW, Edmund!_

If Sir Giles's words were true, Peter's condition was severe. Critical. But if anyone could save my older brother, it was my younger brother.

I saw Flisk peel off to the south, moving to cut through the Ogre ranks at a right angle. Edmund's sword Shafelm, Blade of the Western Wood, flashed brightly even though the day was overcast and I heard the din of metal on metal as Flisk plunged into the line of Ogres.

_Faster, Edmund._

I was panting as much with effort as with anxiety. How could he just ride into that crush? Was his fearlessness brave or reckless?

_Faster, Edmund. As you love him, ride faster._

We were in range to reach the slowest of the Ogres attacking Oreius and his party and we drew up in a line. Xati gave an order and we launched a single round of arrows before Sharet streaked past us, shouting at us to hold our fire. A dozen or more Tigers and Panthers and Leopards were seconds behind her and we made way for the royal guard to thunder past us.

"After them!" I shouted as the last Faun passed us, spurring the Horse on without hesitation. Slower than the guard, the archers gave chase, many of them on foot and only lightly armed. Xati caught up to me.

"Left! To the left!" she yelled, veering off to the right. She motioned some of the archers to follow her,the remainder behind me. I saw her plan and obeyed, trusting her greater wisdom in these things and sighting a few Ogres trying to escape, perhaps to get reenforcements from the remains of Methalain's army. I could shoot from a galloping horse, though not with the same degree of strength as standing. I let loose an arrow, catching the furthest Ogre. I didn't stop him, but I slowed him and that was enough for me. I aimed for the next Ogre, then the next, wounding them in turn. The Cats and Gryphons took over from there, swooping down and harrying our enemies, careful to stay out of range of the Ogres' spears and clubs.

Despite all our efforts, Oreius and his troop were under heavy assault. Was Lucy there? Part of me hoped she was, for Peter's sake, the other part wished her far away and safe, for mine.

_Ride faster, Edmund._


	12. Flisk

This chapter is dedicated to IDoBelieveInMagic, for Peter.

**Flisk**

As I ran across the plain I had but one thought in my head save that of reaching the High King:_ By the Lion's mane, is this child even still on my back?_

He weighed nothing, this younger king, and even as he urged me to run faster I couldn't help but worry he'd be blown away. Why, even King Peter was heavier when he first rode me and King Edmund is of an age of that time, or close to! I need must speak to Oreius to get him to feed this youngling more for clearly there is a lack. At least I could feel the High King upon my back when I carried him. Small wonder Phillip thought naught of carrying this boy, for naught was the sum and total of his being even in full armor.

"Cut them off!" he shouted, his voice tight with emotion. I felt him lean with me and tighten his legs. He was afraid, but not of the Ogres. This I understood, for my own anxiety I held in reserve for the High King my rider, lying wounded not far afield.

The Ogres that had not passed our angle of attack noticed us and several of them were distracted from their assault on Oreius's band. I lowered my head as an Ogre drew down with his spear and I could feel King Edmund brace himself for the impact. He was not used to riding in battle bareback, but he was doing very well and I would protect him as I protected his brother, for at this moment it was all one and the same.

"_NARNIA!"_

He let lose with our battle-cry just as my horn plunged into the neck of the first Ogre we met, cutting short the foul beast's howl.

"For Peter!" I hissed as the Ogre died.

I didn't toss him over my head as I could have, fearful of striking my rider. King Edmund was already attacking the next Ogre with sword and shield and I helped as best I knew, going at our enemy with all the weapons with which Aslan has blessed my herd: horn, hoof, teeth, and speed. I think I startled the young king, who had never before ridden a Unicorn, but he adapted almost instantly to so savage a mount and we slashed and hacked our way through the enemy ranks. I carried him past the line of Ogres and wheeled around. Gryphons were attacking from above and the royal guard was almost upon the battle. Our distraction had helped ease the crush on Oreius and his Centaurs as was King Edmund's intent.

"Go!" he urged.

I plunged back into the fray, proud to be carrying this slight boy king. We fought for the same thing.

We fought for Peter.


	13. Lucy again

**Lucy again**

"Queen Lucy! Guard your brother!"

I wasn't sure of what to do. Drawing Edmund's sword, I crouched beside Peter, more frightened for his life than for the situation we were in. All around me the Centaurs and Talking Animals faced the Ogres, fighting to keep them back and away from me and my brother. Oreius stayed right beside me, shouting orders to his troop, directing them against our attackers. He cut down an Ogre that made it past the Elks and it dropped right before me, dead. I almost screamed I was so startled. Suddenly more Ogres smashed their way past the circle of warriors and Oreius whirled.

"Lie atop him!" he ordered. "Protect him!"

I knew better than to question a general of Narnia and I threw myself fully atop Peter, resting my head beside his and wrapping my arms around him, drawing his limbs in close between my arms and legs. He didn't move, didn't stir, still lying prostrate on the grass. He must have been terribly hurt not to be awake yet. Normally the people I treated with the cordial awoke almost instantly. I could smell blood and grass and sweat and my brother's pale cheek was clammy against mine. How badly had he been wounded? Was he even fully healed yet? I could feel his slow breaths on my cheek and I tried to think about that rather than the clash of battle just inches away.

A moment later Oreius stood over us both, his four legs splayed and his swords ringing out with each blow.

"Don't move!"

I closed my eyes, trusting him, and did just as he ordered. This was not the time for heroics, not when my oldest brother needed me so. I felt a hoof brush my back several times and at one point something hit my helmet with a sharp, metallic ring. I was glad it struck me and not Peter. I held him closer, protecting him with my body as he had protected us so often with his own. All around me were cries and blows and the sounds of fighting Animals. I could hear Oreius grunt with exertion, then he cursed roundly as one of his swords snapped. The broken blade hit my shoulder, but Peter's mail saved me and him.

"Lucy, your sword!"

I looked up just long enough to register exactly how desperate the situation was, then I pushed myself up on one arm to hold Edmund's sword up by the blade. The Centaur snatched it away and I threw myself down flat as he reared and struck an Ogre with his hooves.

And then I heard the most wonderful sound in the world next to Aslan's roar and Father Christmas's laughter.

I heard my brother's war-cry cut through the clamor of battle.

"_NARNIA!"_


	14. Ogre Captain Casht again

**Ogre Captain Casht** **again**

Fool that I was, I lead these warriors to this ruinous end. Impulse and emotion drove me to here. Wisdom I had abandoned long ago.

I supposed, then, that Methalain had taught me well. Surely I had followed his lead.

Narnia's kings and queens before us and behind us, yet we could not reach a one of them. The Narnian creatures harried us from all sides and above and the lesser king on his horned beast was ripping through my loose formation as easily as a bird cuts through the air. His battle cry rang painfully in my ears and I detested the name of Narnia and all it stood for.

It stood for doom.

For a moment we swarmed over them, fighting thick and fast. Our size and numbers, our only real tactic in battle, worked in our favor long enough to dupe me into believing I had a chance. I leaped over the circle of deadly spears to be faced by a Centaur so unyielding and fierce I thought him capable of dealing with Methalain himself. He held two swords, one dark, one silver, and he stood over the prone figures of the High King and what must have been a queen. Three Ogres, all of them well known to me, lay dead on the ground around him. If ones such as he served Narnia's kings, it was no wonder that Methalain had fallen. I knew instantly that moving a mountain would be easier than dislodging him, and luck would have no bearing on the outcome of our duel.

Fool that I am, I attacked his with his king's own sword and he matched it with a blade that looked to be its twin. I no longer cared for anything, least of all my life for I had thrown it away long ago. I counted myself a skilled warrior among my people, but this Centaur so outclassed me as to bring me to shame. These Narnians, with their faith and their unity spelt ruin for the whole of my nation.

I couldn't even claim that I let him kill me in some glorious forlorn hope. I tried to fight and I failed.

And so this unnatural creature slew me without ever knowing what I was.

A fool.


	15. Oreius again

**Oreius again**

The Ogre fell, run through by Shafelm, and I shoved his corpse aside, away from Queen Lucy. Rhindon dropped from its unclean grasp and I snatched it up and thrust the blade into one of the sheaths across my back. I glanced behind me and saw another of the foul creatures rushing towards me from behind. Unable to safely turn around, I braced myself and kicked with both my hind legs. The Ogre hit me and scraped my flanks with his claws an instant before my kicks connected to its head. I staggering as I landed awkwardly around the two monarchs quite literally under my protection, but the Ogre dropped like a stone and did not stir. I glanced down, but Lucy, valiant, brave Queen Lucy had not moved and still covered her brother with her own body. Aslan's blessings upon her, I knew that I would not have been able to stay still in the midst of a fight and I was grateful she trusted and obeyed me. I would not have been able to protect them otherwise.

Suddenly Flisk came dashing up to me and I was eye-to-eye with King Edmund. He pushed back his visor and I saw that his jaw was set and his eyes gleamed with the cold, hard emotion that possesses him in lieu of anger in the midst of battle. I knew of few warriors more intense than this young king when he reached this state and I welcomed it gladly. He took in the situation in a glance and ordered, "Stay there!" before wheeling Flisk around and returning to the fray.

I shifted. It was my turn to trust and obey, unable to join the fight unless it came to me.

There were precious few of the enemy left, but my younger king never stopped until the last one was accounted for. It was short work. The Ogres were demoralized and poor individual fighters, and they were faced against the finest warriors in the world.

Gradually, a kind of quiet fell across the field. The soldiers and Animals around me came to a halt, exhausted. A few moaned, injured. Others checked to be sure the Ogres were dead. I heard King Edmund send a Faun back to get word to and from Celer.

"Lucy!"

Queen Susan rode up on a Horse, her face wild with anxiety, all her arrows spent. She leaped down and rushed towards me as Queen Lucy finally raised her head. I stepped aside and helped the younger queen to move away from her brother. Even with heavy gloves on I could feel her hand trembling, though I suspected her fear was not because of the battle. Instead of turning to Susan she stayed kneeling on the ground and checked on Peter. His breathing was deep and even now and his color had vastly improved. I looked him over carefully. His broken bones had been mended by the cordial and he seemed merely asleep - the deep, dreamless sleep of utter exhaustion.

"Lucy! Lucy, how is he? Did you reach him in time?" Susan fell to the ground beside her, torn between hugging her sister in relief and frantic worrying over her older brother.

"I...I did, but he hasn't woken up yet," said she. Frightened, she looked to her sister, then to me for answers, though we had none to offer. "He should be awake!"

"No," said a fatigued voice. We all turned to see King Edmund seated atop Flisk just a few steps away. He was filthy and battered in comparison to the Unicorn, but there was no fear in his dark eyes. "Just let him sleep, Lu. He needs it. You didn't see what he went through."

She nodded, accepting his assurance, then stood and pulled forth her bottle of cordial to attend the wounded. I made to step away and help, but Edmund halted me with a gesture.

"Stay with Peter, Oreius. I'm still trusting you with his life. Get him and Lucy back to the camp as soon as the wounded are tended. I'll take the royal guard back to the battlefield. Susan, gather the archers and the Cats. Escort this band back to the camp. We'll follow as soon as we're able." I could tell he didn't expect to find much waiting for them back in the field, but he was conducting the war as he had been taught, as I had taught him, thoroughly and carefully. Then he looked past me and for a moment he smiled with a warmth and pleasure that seemed completely misplaced in this blighted land. I twisted around and saw Sir Giles standing on a rock and smiling upon us.

"Well done, Sir Fox," I said, and he bowed.


	16. Peter again

To everyone who has stayed with me this long through my story, I thank you. Your reviews and enthusiasm are amazing and I'm thrilled and honored that so many excellent authors took the time to let me know what you think. You folks are amazing!

With that said, on to the final chapter!

**Peter again**

Darkness.

That was all I saw when I finally opened my eyes, but as my thoughts cleared so did my vision. I was in the pavilion Edmund and I shared while campaigning, tucked warmly into the hanging cot that served as my bed. I was a little stiff and very sore, as was typical of the days after so large a skirmish, but I was so weak I could barely lift my head. I could hear the noise of a busy camp outside and I saw a narrow shaft of sunlight through the front flaps of the tent. I could tell by the angle of the light that it was morning. The voices I heard were excited and happy and I could only guess that we had been successful against the Ogres, though I couldn't make out anything that was being said. When I heard dance music from a Faun's pipe I knew for certain we had been victorious. I sighed in relief and quietly gave thanks to Aslan that Narnia was again secure.

I tried to remember how I had gotten here, but my last clear thoughts were of ducking Methalain's club and Edmund yelling for more covering fire from the archers. Not for the first time, I must have been knocked silly. It was a habit I needed to break if I ever wanted to reach eighteen.

My own armor was not on its rack. I had probably ruined another suit. Yet another bad habit I needed badly to break. The Dwarves would again be muttering under their breath over what I had done to their good work, secretly gloating that they had protected me so well and each of them trying to take credit for such well-made armor. To my relief I did see Rhindon back in its sheath and hanging on the rack, my shield right beside it. Who had retrieved them? I would have to find out and thank them.

A slight metallic sound caught my attention and I realized that Edmund was seated right next to me, fast asleep in a chair, his feet propped up on a folding stool, his head bent down. He was still in his battered armor and I knew exactly what had happened: he had sat with me all through the night after organizing the clean-up following the battle, all without taking a moment to tend to his own needs. I wished he hadn't slept in armor, especially still wearing his sword. I knew from experience it was frightfully uncomfortable, but I suspected he was too worn out to care. Still, I was happy beyond words to see him whole and alive and secure enough in victory to take his rest beside me even if he hadn't made it as far as his own bed. As soon as I could rise from this cot I would make sure he was well and make sure he took care of himself. He no longer complained when I hovered and fussed over him because he knew I needed to do it, just as he had discovered he needed to do the same thing with me. It was almost a ritual between us now.

I reached out and touched his knee. He roused with a start, then saw I was awake. He was pale with exhaustion and his face was bruised, but his eyes were filled with such relief as I had scarce seen before. He didn't say anything. There didn't seem to be any words we hadn't expressed before or needed to express again. Everything was right there, in his eyes. So instead he smiled at me and covered my hand with his own. For a long moment he just looked at me, then he dropped his feet from the stool and leaned over. He kissed me on the forehead as I had done so often to him, giving me his love and blessing and grace. When he sat back he drew a deep breath, stretching a bit like a cat before he settled deeper into the chair, nodding off again with his warm hand still holding mine. I watched him for a little while, overjoyed at his presence and grateful for his devotion, until finally I followed him into sleep, content that all was well.

Fin


End file.
